


A Matter of Trust

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following "Two's A Crowd," Steed attempts to apologize for his behavior and prove that he trusts Emma with his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Trust

“Have you forgiven me yet?” Steed’s voice was somewhat muffled, given his position. 

“Not yet, but you’re making a good start.”

His lips returned to her shoulder, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin there. One hand massaged her lace-covered breast while the other rubbed at her crotch through her jeans. It was an interesting position, as she sat between his spread legs on the bed, her back against his chest, body entirely open to his skillful hands. 

It had been, by any stretch, an interesting afternoon. Steed had appeared at the door with a bottle of champagne and a bag of groceries, hat in hand and wholly contrite. Damn right, he should have been too, after everything he put her through. It was only through some copious charm and the promise of an excellent lunch that Emma forgave him enough to let him in. They had been through the serious portion of their discussion before, on the drive back to London from the country house where they apprehended four Russians posing as PSEV. He’d offered no excuses – it had obviously hit home to him just how unfair, and dangerous, his little ruse about Gordon Webster had been. She had forgiven him, rationally, but irrationally it all still grated. She was bad at concealing her annoyance.

A bottle of wine into the meal, however, and it all came out. How they needed, professionally, to be on the same page. How such behavior would endanger them both. How she wasn’t to be jerked around like a puppet, and would cease working with him if he declined to play fair. How he had to show her that he trusted her, as she had always trusted him. The professional discussion lasted until the end of the salad course and the oven’s ding which informed them that the beef was done. 

Then the personal discussion began. Their relationship had hitherto remained largely undefined. Romantic, intimate, involved – yes, it was all of those things, but until that day the professional and the personal were not particularly intertwined. Now, they needed some definition. She had to trust him. He had to trust her. No lies, no manipulation, no subterfuge. What were they?

Steed had answered the question before she even tried to. Partners, lovers, and friends, in that order, he said. As a partner, he would never lie to her again, and never fail to trust her. As a friend, he would be kinder to her. As a lover…he had never lied and he never would.

“You’re the only woman in my life,” he said. “And I don’t want to jeopardize that. Never again.” 

With eyes so earnest they dispelled any lingering doubt. He had never said such a thing, not in the clear light of day. Not long after, she took him to bed.

And now…this. A little game, testing those bonds so recently cemented. It could end with mutual satisfaction, or turn to a wild, endless night. It didn’t much matter to her at the moment. 

Steed’s fingers opened the button of her jeans and unzipped her fly. She tingled in anticipation as his hand slid beneath the elastic on her panties. Emma shifted on the bed just enough to give him access to her clitoris. He began to stroke her, mouth still sucking on her shoulder, occasionally pinching her nipple with his clever fingers. 

Oh, but he was good. No doubt about that. Emma often marveled at how he could touch her so precisely, exert exactly the right amount of pressure or speed to have her writhing against him, body begging for completion. As limited as his access was, he managed to get his hand down far into her underwear, his middle finger toying with her opening while his thumb rubbed circles against her clitoris. 

“Forgive me?” he rumbled in her ear. 

“No.”

He shifted to get a surer grip on her. His fingers were lazy - he was in no hurry to get her there, fingers coasting up and down, playing with her without too much insistence. He kissed her ear. 

“Mmm, Mrs. Peel.”

“You’re such a bastard.”

“You love it.” He bit her earlobe. “Come for me, Mrs. Peel.”

“No,” she replied. 

She almost laughed at the formality of the name in the midst of what was a rather informal occasion. He curled the fingers inside of her, spreading her. His thumb pressed against her clitoris as he trust in and out, drawing her to the edge of completion.

“Come for me, Emma,” he growled into her ear. The other fingers of his other hand slid into her blouse and ghosted over her nipple.

“No,” she said, though words were about to be moot anyhow. She wasn’t quite sure what he did, but she was aware of his mouth and both his hands suddenly working in tandem on her flesh. Then she wasn’t aware of much of anything as the orgasm crested and washed over her so quickly it shook her nerves.

He kept his arms around her through it, thrusting his fingers harder, and kissed her neck as it ended. She lay against him, breathing hard.

“Dirty trick,” she said into his ear. 

“I know what you like,” he whispered. “More?” 

He held her tight against his chest so she could feel the semi-erection now pressing against her back. He wasn’t done, and he wouldn’t be done until she was convinced of his repentance, and convinced that no man could ever satisfy her as he did.

“You’re determined to make me forgive you, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

Emma sighed, mockingly grave. “I suppose I must give you the chance.”

“It’s only fair.”

“Let me go.” 

The stricken look on his face made her laugh, and then feel ashamed for laughing. 

“I want to get out of these clothes.”

“Ah. Well, in that case…” He released her.

Emma rose, stretching. She turned to look at him as she undressed, enjoying the sight of him watching her. His grey eyes were bright, his face had a boyish softness, and though he watched her with desire, there was that underneath it - a fondness, she thought - that warmed her heart. No man had ever looked at her the way he did. 

“You’re very overdressed,” she said when she had stripped down to her underthings. 

Steed shot off the bed like he’d been pricked, and was dropping cufflinks, tie, and shirt in a heap on the nearby chair. Emma sat down on the bed as he unbuckled his belt - she loved the efficient way he undressed - and watched as he opened his flies and stepped out of his trousers.

“Wait,” she said as he tucked his thumbs into his briefs. “You don’t get to have all the fun.”

She scooted to his side of the bed. He was only half-erect, a memory from their encounter on the bed. She slid his briefs halfway down his thighs and curled her fingers around his penis. He stiffened in her grasp, even more so when she kissed him, gently, and parted her lips to take the very tip into her mouth.

“Emma,” he groaned, fingers twining in her hair. She looked up at him and smiled at the beatific look on his face. She kissed him again, sucking slightly, so that he rolled his hips at her. 

“Steed,” she said, raising her head again. He opened his eyes and looked down at her. 

“Do you trust me?” she said. He nodded. She let him go and moved off the bed. “Lie down.”

She kept the handcuffs - Ministry-issue - in her top dresser drawer. They had used them once or twice before, in similar situations, playing with each other, pushing boundaries. Steed seemed to expect it when she returned to the bed with them in her hand. 

“All right?” she said. 

“Yes.” 

He stretched back on the bed, his hands above his head, and gazed up at her. She was well aware of what he was giving to her. 

The hard click of the handcuffs secured him. Emma ran her fingers down his taut arms, raised above his head. The muscles were relaxed as much as they could be in his position. She could feel every thread in his body. His skin was soft and warm beneath her fingertips. Coarse hairs, hard muscle, a slight softness around his midsection that she sometimes teased him about. Perfect in his imperfection, as she had so often remarked – not a beautiful man, but a handsome one, with a body that reflected the long, strange life he’d lived. Dissipated, violent, generous, genteel. Cynicism to conceal a delicate heart; violence atop a man capable of such gentleness. 

She slid her hands down. Strong legs, too – the thighs of an experienced horseman, as she had reason to know. She didn’t realize she was driving him wild until he shifted under her. His hands grasped at nothing, his body open to her touch, her fingers and mouth. She straddled him and met his eyes. The erection between her thighs throbbed with a life of its own, but the eyes were placid and submissive. 

“Do you trust me?” she said. 

“With my life.”

She took his erection in hand and lowered herself until she was filled by him. 

No man had ever made her feel the way that he did – no one fit her so perfectly. He was big, yes, and thick, and as she began to ride him she felt what she must have felt with anyone of the same size. Yet it was so peculiarly him. To feel his body meld with hers to the point it was not possible to discern where they each began – this was something she’d never experienced with anyone else. His hands strained at the cuffs and arm muscles stood out as her rhythm guided them both. She felt the loss of his hands against her, but made up for it by touching him. She ran her hands down his chest, placed her palms against his taut pectorals and rubbed his skin. He groaned and thrashed beneath her, trying to meet her rhythm as best he could, tied down as he was. She took him as deeply within her as she could and he bucked, grunting. 

“Stay with me,” she said, stroking his face. 

She leaned forward, shifting the angle of penetration. There was nothing any more, no time, no earth, just the pair of them, locked in this moment. He gave her everything - that sovereign will to match her own, yet relinquished now. She was in control of him and he trusted her not to abuse it. She arched back, grinding her pelvis down so that he touched her as deeply as he ever could. Her hands gripped his thighs as her orgasm began. She was swept away by it, spiraling far from anything she knew or logically understood, lost in this pleasure. She felt him come and took the warm rush within her as a gift, freely given. Nothing more intimate, or more honest, could ever be between them. 

Emma unlocked his hands and then he was embracing her as though she’d dragged him drowning from the sea. She collected his whole body and held him. She could not have dreamed anything better than this, or than him. His breathing slowed, his head curved into her neck. She did trust him, and he trusted her. Such a fiercely independent man, he could never have submitted to her so readily if he didn’t. There weren’t any more games to be played.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.


End file.
